


a poinsettia in poison rain

by hobbitual



Series: D/s Hydra Husbands [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Collars, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitual/pseuds/hobbitual





	a poinsettia in poison rain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пуансеттия под ядовитым дождем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980058) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



Jack hasn't let him come for three days.

“I've been thinkin',” he had said. “You're always spoutin' that 'order through pain' bullshit and harpin' 'bout being able to take anything I give you. Do anything for me. Big man, huh? Commander Rumlow, the big fuckin' macho motherfucker that ain't scared of a little pain, nothin' can make Rumlow cry. I think we oughta test that. See if you can really do it.”

So, three days. Brock can't touch himself for a week and it's been three days. It's just a test. A test to show Jack that he's capable of taking their relationship further, to prove that he's serious about what he wants. He can do this. No fuckin' problem with that. He can. It's not like all he thinks about is sex. What's so special about getting your dick wet anyway? It's not like getting your cock sucked is all that great. Or sucking cock. Or feeling a cock pounding your asshole. Being shoved further into the mattress, or the floor, or –

No. He's fine. He's fuckin' wonderful. His brain is completely disconnected from his dick. Who said you need to be obsessed with sex to be a real man, anyway? Brock Rumlow is the manliest motherfucker on the damn planet. There's nothing Rumlow can't handle. Something as bullshit as needing to come is completely off his radar.

It's peachy fuckin' keen. It's good. It's great. It's –

“Now what's gotten you lookin' so pouty for, princess?”

Fuck.

Brock straightens up from the hunched position he's been in for the better part of an hour and looks up at Jack. Jack in that tight black shirt that stretches just right over his pecs, his jeans that hug his muscled thighs, those heavy work boots that he knows can put him on cloud goddamn nine just from being a foot near his face...

“I'm not pouting, you prick. Jesus Christ. What do you want?”

Jack watches him with a keen eye and a smirk, taking deliberately slow steps closer until he's in front of Brock, towering over him, of course with his goddamn crotch right in Brock's face.

“Just been thinkin' about ya, sweetheart. Wonderin' what you been up to. Not too hot and bothered, I hope? Not feelin' a little hot under the collar?”

Brock feels himself getting red in the face at Jack's...choice of words. Of course he would milk this bullshit for all it's worth.

“You're a piece of work, Rollins. I'm fucking fine. I don't need you checking up on me every second like I'm a little fuckin' --”

Jack is right behind him before he can even finish his sentence. Jack's big hand is around Brock's throat and he can't breathe, let alone speak. He can't move. He's like a deer caught in headlights. His cock, half hard for the past hour thanks to his futile efforts to not think about sex, gets harder as soon as he feels Jack's skin on his.

“If I'd have known how fuckin' bitchy you were gonna be over not bein' able to rub one out whenever the fuck you want, I'd have taped your goddamn mouth shut. D'you think this is a game? A fuckin' dare, how long can Rumlow go without jacking his pathetic dick, show mean ol' Jack just how tough you really are? This ain't no game, princess. This is a test.”

Jack's fingers aren't even holding onto his neck tightly, it's really just the lightest pressure against his skin, but it feels like the air is being choked out of him. It's almost impossible to get the breath he needs, the courage he needs, to reply. In the time it takes him to get enough air, to wet his lips, Jack really has tightened his grip on Brock's throat.

“I – I'm sorry. Sir. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to – to disrespect you. I don't think it's a game, sir. You don't have to t-tape...tape my mouth shut. Sir. I – I mean you can do what you want, sir, I'm taking this seriously, I – fuck.”

He's fucking rambling. He's watched enough porn to know what to say, he's wanted this for as long as he can fuckin' remember, he should know what to say, he should be good at this, he should be making Jack proud of him. He can't fuck this up before it's even started.

He's brought out of his own racing mind by Jack's low, rumbling laugh. Jack's fingers slide up the length of Brock's neck to rest on his jaw, settling there with a harsh squeeze that makes Brock's bones ache. He feels his cock jolt, precome beading at the tip. He has to laugh internally at the irony; he completely forgot about how goddamn horny he's been.

“Now calm down a tick, sweetheart,” Jack says, and Brock can hear the smirk in his voice. “There's no need to go apologizin' til' you're blue in the face. I'll let you know when you're really sorry. Where'd that 'sir' come from, then, hm? We never talked about any of that when we discussed our plans for the week. Just about you showin' me you can do what you're told. Take any order I give you and be happy to do it. You want me to own you, remember? Isn't that what you said? Make you mine. You're achin' to see how a real man takes what he wants, ain't ya? All that bark and no bite to show for it. Ain't you just a peach.”

Brock has been hanging onto every word and it takes a second for him to realize Jack's finished speaking. He lets the meaning of Jack's words really sink in, and he can feel his brow furrowing and the irritation from earlier comes rushing back.

“I – hold on a fuckin' minute, Rollins, you can't just – fuck! I can take care of my goddamn self, not a real man my ass, what the fuck is your pr –“

And Jack's hand is completely covering Brock's mouth, fingers digging into his cheek, Jack's free arm clamped tightly against Brock's middle. He's in an unbreakable fucking hold and he doesn't – he can't –

“Now correct me if I'm wrong, darlin',” Jack whispers into Brock's ear, his breath hot and his tone steely, “but I don't think you know just who you're talkin' to.”

Brock can feel his body going slack, his face getting warm, he's losing track of what he was so upset about. What is there to be mad about when he feels so...safe? He's never...

He can hear Jack talking to him, but it's faint and far away and nothing really matters right now, does it?  
But Jack is speaking louder, and it's starting to filter through. Brock can't hold onto that safe feeling anymore, and he can finally focus again. God, what the fuck was that?

Jack is looking at Brock intently, like he's trying to find something in Brock's eyes. A faint smirk is playing on his lips and Brock really doesn't get what's so fuckin' funny.

“You back on planet earth, Rumlow? Feelin' alright?”

Brock runs a hand over his face, trying to get his bearings back and figure out what the fuck just happened. Why...why did he feel like he was goddamn high just from being manhandled by Rollins? Obviously Jack wouldn't treat him like a he was made of fuckin' glass, he could take it rough, but. He doesn't understand.

Jack is still fucking smirking at him.

“Are you going to tell me what the fucking joke is or not? I'm...just tell me or get the fuck out, Rollins,” Brock grumbles, turning away from Jack. He doesn't have the goddamn time for this. Maybe this was just a waste of both of their time. If he can't even focus then what's the point?

Before Brock can get much more further, Jack is in front of him. Towering over him, really. When did Jack get so tall?

“You're just a treat, sweetheart. You ain't got no idea how special you are. C'mere, let daddy take care of you for a minute.”

Brock starts at Jack's choice of words, again, and feels his eyes get wide and his lips part, but he just...doesn't have anything to say to that. He always have something to say to Jack. But all he can do is listen.

Jack takes Brock into his arms again, not as roughly as before, but tight. Brock huffs quietly to himself over the fact that he fucking likes it.

Until Jack rests his chin on the top of Brock's head. Not fuckin' happening.

“Rollins, I swear to god –“

Jack squeezes tighter, and its more like it was earlier, and Brock shuts up real quick. He just. Can't fuck this up again.

“I know what you need, darlin'. I've known since I met you, what you've been cryin' for and hopin' someone will give to you. Order through pain and all that shit, I made fun of ya for it, but I get it, I do. You need someone in control, someone to make decisions for you. Someone to hurt you sometimes, hm? We talked about that. I can be that for you. I can show you things you never dreamed of, princess. And I know you like that kinda talk, don't try to hide it.”

Of course, Jack can always tell when Brock is blushing and goddammit he's still hard. He's been hard this whole time, even when he...went away for a second, and after what Jack just said, it's getting impossible to ignore.

Brock pushes his face into Jack's chest so his words can be muffled but still intelligible.

“Three days is long enough, Rollins. I've had the patience of a goddamn saint and a week is overkill and you fuckin' know it.”

And Jack's hand is in Brock's hair, pulling his head back roughly, and his neck muscles feel like they're on fire and – fuck, there's that feeling that comes over him every time Jack gets rough with him. Jack is speaking in his ear again, and Brock thinks he can feel a hint of teeth against his skin.

“Now I know for a fact you're forgettin' who you're talking to. Where'd that 'sir' go, then? Hm? Where's all that 'I'm sorry, sir, I'll be good' gone? Did you forget what this is all about 'cause you felt all warm 'n gooey inside for once, thought you could go right back to bein' pissy and thinkin' youre worth more than the dirt on my goddamn boots, even after you failed the test you wanted to take so badly? Couldn't even keep your mind off your dick for a couple days, now that's just pathetic. Think you know all about how somethin' like this would work 'cause you've seen porn, looked at collars when you think I ain't payin' attention to what you're doin' online, talkin' back to your daddy like you think you have any authority here. Better start thinkin' again, princess.”

Fuck. How does that work on him every time, how is that all it takes? Jack's voice sounding so low and deep. like it has all the authority in the goddamn world, he can't...

Brock feels his knees buckle, and he can't hold his own weight up, he's about to sink to his knees. Wouldn't that be the right thing to do, anyway?

Jack is pulling him back up against him, though, before he can be where he wants to be.

“Not just yet, sugar. Don't you want to get what you want? Daddy's feeling generous. Now where's that sweet talk from earlier? You're gonna have to work for it if you wanna get your reward early.”

Work for it...Brock can work for it. He can be good, he can do it. He can make Jack proud of just how fucking good he can be.

Brock takes a stuttered breath, lets himself settle completely against Jack, and starts to tell Jack everything he wants to hear. Maybe he'll impress Jack. Really make him proud, make him want to make good on all the things he said he would do.

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, for trying to tell you what to do. For thinking I could get away with it. I've been bad, I'm – I'm a bad boy. I need you to punish me, sir. Daddy. Show me how to be good. Show me how to please you. I'm yours, Jack, sir, I belong to you, I'm beneath you. I want to – to feel you – ah, fuck – !”

At some point while Brock was speaking, Jack has gotten his pants open and taken his dick out, and the rough squeeze is what's brought him back to awareness.

“Damn, Rumlow, you've really watched some porn, haven't ya?” Jack is so obviously smirking, and his squeezing has turned into rough strokes, making Brock shudder and tense up; the friction is so goddamn good after so long.

“You're doin' alright, for someone that's got no idea what he's doin'. I'll teach ya. Make you an obedient little bitch, just for me. Get you a collar with Princess on the tag 'cause I know how much you like that. You've been waiting so long for this, haven't you? Thought you could hold out for a week, ain't that cute. I only went and agreed with that cause I knew, there's no way you'd have that in you. Not 'til I got my hands on you and showed you how to be a real good boy.”

Fuck, Brock can't...he can't believe this is coming out of Rollins' mouth, that he could ever hear something so filthy and so perfect. His breathing has gone from heavy to gasping, his hips are starting to buck from the continued pressure and stroking, and Jack is holding onto his hip to keep him from moving much more than that. He isn't going to last much longer, he can't, not when everything feels so good, and he feels like he's floating on air.

“Not gonna last very long, don't have to tell me that. I know you better than you know yourself, Rumlow. I know what turns you on, makes you squirm, what makes you come so hard you feel like you ain't never felt anything like it. And I can do it better. I can take anything you can think of and make it better than anyone else ever could. Tie you to the bed, leave you there, come back when I'm good and ready, tape your mouth shut. Spank you and whip you til you're screamin' for more and to stop at the same time. Get you a leash for your collar and pull it so hard you can't breathe. Makin' you so happy, like you never thought you would be. Have you sittin' at my feet and lovin' every moment of it, 'cause you know you're mine. You'll have it all, princess. All of that and more.”

Fuck. Fucking hell, Brock is gonna – he can't – he's waited so long, he –

“Oh god, Jack, sir, fuck! Daddy! I – fuck! Shit – !”

And Brock is coming, coming so hard he's seeing stars, fuck, how can Jack fucking do this to him so easily? He – holy shit.

Brock can feel something hot and sticky on his chin and cheeks, dangerously close to his eye, and he...

He came on his own fucking face.

And Jack is laughing, Brock can feel the vibrations where Jack's face is pressed against his shoulder.

“Rollins, what the fuck, you fucking planned that, there is no goddamn way –“

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Jack says, turning Brock around in his arms. “And ain't you the prettiest cumslut I've ever seen.”

Brock can feel himself blushing, even over the flush on his skin from finally getting off after three damn days, and stubbornly looks away.

Jack grabs Brock's chin and turns his face back to make Brock look him in the eye.

“None of that now, don't be bad. Ain't you happy now, you got what you wanted? No pouting now, either.”

Brock bites his lip in frustration, but keeps meeting Jack's eyes. He wasn't pouting, goddamit. Brock Rumlow does not pout.

“Yes, I'm happy now. Thank you. Sir. I'm – I'm sorry I couldn't make it a week. Maybe if you hadn't been hanging around saying shit about collars, I –“

Jack's smiling at Brock, and it's so warm he can't even let himself bitch for the sake of it anymore.

“Next time, sweetheart. You'll make it next time. Now give daddy a kiss.”

Brock feels himself blushing again, and scolds himself internally for always letting that happen, but he stands up on his toes and puts his arms around Jack's shoulders. Brock kisses him with all the force he can manage, while still being a little bit weak in the knees after their earlier activities.

When Jack pulls away he gives Brock a sly grin and rubs the come on Brock's cheek into his skin with a thumb.

“Now let's go find you a collar you like, princess.”


End file.
